To Miss Patty's surprise, Sally burst out laughing. As Miss Patty had implied, she did look strained. There may have been something a little hysterical about her laugh. Miss Patty was more afraid than ever. She proposed stopping at the apothecary's and getting a little camphor or—or something.
But Sally protested that she did not need camphor or anything. "You know, Cousin Patty," she went on, the tears standing in her eyes, "I haven't seen my mother for four years, and I don't know, quite, what to expect. I am very—very fond of my mother, Cousin Patty. I can't help my feelings, but you needn't be afraid"—and Sally laughed a little—"that I am going to have hysterics or anything, for I'm not."
Miss Patty murmured some reply. Sally did not know what it was, and Miss Patty didn't either.
"I don't suppose," Sally continued, "that Charlie remembers mother very well, for he—"
"I do, too," said Charlie, with the pleasant manner which had become usual.
"Very well, then, you do," replied Sally patiently. And she said no more, for they were already turning down the steep hill that led to the station.
In time—it seemed a very long time—but in time the train came in; and Sally watched eagerly the crowd flowing down the steps and spreading out on the platform. Presently, near the end, came Henrietta, as fast as the people would permit. Sally gave a great sigh of relief, for she was beginning to be afraid—and there was Fox. Sally edged impatiently toward the car steps. Fox was not looking at her; he was helping a lady whose eyes wandered eagerly over the waiting people. The lady's mouth drooped at one corner and her hair showed just a little gray behind her lifted veil.
Sally ran forward, elbowing her way without remorse; she had but one thought. Her chin quivered. A wave of tenderness overwhelmed her.
"Oh, mother! Mother, dear! Don't you know me?"
The drooping lips parted in a lovely smile. Sally felt her mother's arms around her. How she had longed for that!